No need to respond to the first thing with words. Loxley doesn't press. Not yet.

Levity he can do, certainly, amongst other things. The corner of his mouth quirks up, nuances of expression only just visible to human eyes in the dimness, and he reaches down to hook a grasp around her ankle. Gently but firmly, it's hoisted up to rest on his knee, so that he can work at her laces.

"We should simply go around without boots," he says, never mind the snow still caught in the buckles, "for occasions like this."